The Bassist
by hero-ine-hero-out
Summary: Murdoc has had a relatively bad childhood, and, well, life. That is, until he hits a blue-haired man 11 years his younger named 2D, and is forced to take care of him. When the boy wakes up, their friendship spirals into something new, and, frankly, unexpected. Rated T for Mudz's mouth. Rating may change later on. AU. COMPUTER PROBLEMS; STORY ON HOLD!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay you guys, Hi! This is my first fanfiction, and recently I have become **_**obsessed **_**with the GoRiLLaZ, so I thought, "Hey! I should do a 2D/Murdoc fic!" So, I present to you, chapter one of The Bassist!**

** I struggled a lot with how to start this chapter, what perspective it should be, so on and so forth, so bear with me as I get used to this fic! Also, Oliver is his (abusive) flat/band mate who he took in to help pay the rent.**

** Sorry for the short chapter, as intros are always. This is some sort of AU I suppose; not sticking to the plot/storyline of the actual GoRiLLaZ, anyway. Please point out any mistakes you find, and happy reading!**

**Chapter One: Talent and Bruises**

Sebastian Niccals was a terrible man, even if he was Murdoc's father. He hated him, and this thought was only reiterated when he was jolted awake by a beer bottle being flung at his door.

"Oi, Murdoc!" screamed his flat mate. "Get the hell outta bed, ya freeloading asshole!"

The man groaned, looking hazily at his clock. Five-thirty in the morning.

"The hell do you want?" Murdoc growled, opening the door to face him.

"Last time I checked, I paid for your last two months of rent," Oliver growled, "so treat me with some fuckin' respect. Got it?''

He reeked of booze and pot, and Murdoc flinched ever-so-slightly at his imposing demeanor. "Fine. What the hell do you want, _sir_?" Murdoc sarcastically corrected himself.

His head was whipped to the side as Oliver's hand struck his cheek. "Go buy me booze."

It was rather safe to say Murdoc Niccals hated most things. His outlook on life fogged by memories of his childhood. Memories of his father and Hannibal, letting out any and all of their problems on the poor "mistake" of a child.

No matter how hard he tried not to think of it, the black-haired man couldn't get the image of them towering over the boy, kicking him and bruising him, as Murdoc cried out in pain.

"_Stop, stop!" he screamed through the tears, trying to shield his face from his father's boot._

"_Second place?!" the older man roared, slamming his heel down onto Murdoc's chest, making him see stars. "We're _Niccals, _we don't get second place! You damn failure!"_

_Murdoc's sobs raked his body as the 11 year old felt a crack in his side, his father's steel-toed book making contact with his well-bruised skin. "I tried my hardest, I swear to God!" he screamed._

"_There's no God, you pig!" spat the man. "And if there was, he wouldn't waste his time on you! You fuckin' waste of air!"_

Murdoc jerked out of his short-lived sleep, shaking and sweaty. "Fuck..," he mumbled, sitting up and holding his head between his knees.

He sat there, cold and shaking for a few moments before clumsily flinging himself towards the door, stumbling into the hallway. He dashed into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when he felt tears prick in his eyes.

Opening the fridge with little caution, he snatched some beers and a random off-brand bottle of booze before locking himself in his room.

He slowly swallowed the first bit of beer, along with his fear, and he sank into his routine of loneliness.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi you guys! This is chapter two, and I really struggled with this because I suck at beginnings of stories XD. Let me know if at any point you want to maybe switch to 2D's point during the story for a chapter or two. Oh, and as for the rating, it may change if any... **_**action… **_**happens during the fic. XD.**

** So, without further ado, here is chapter two!**

**Chapter Two: Lights Hurt**

Murdoc sighed, wrenching his eyes open and gripping his head. _How much did I fucking __**drink**__? _he thought to himself. It was already five-thirty in the evening, and the black-haired man was surpsied that his asshole of a flat mate hadn't woken him up. Not that Murdoc wasn't copiously grateful for that; he'd rather not have Oliver make his unwanted passes at him.

Not wanting to be in that house any longer, Murdoc grudgingly put a shirt on and sat up, wincing at the movement making his head throb. Stepping into his shoes, he turned the light on.

"Oh—_fuck!_" he growled, immediately turning the light off again. The man recollected himself and turned the lights on gingerly, opening his eyes slowly. "Damn booze…"

Steps muffled by the piles of dirty clothing on the ground, Murdoc made his way into the hallway where he was greeted with the stench of pot and vodka swirling around inside his head, and certainly not helping his migraine caused by those very objects.

"Oi, Murrrrrrdoc," Oliver slurred, rising from the couch and stumbling towards him. "Whadaya say to… _Paying _yer ol' mate back, hmm?" He slapped his arm around Murdoc's shoulders and grinned with his gnarly teeth.

"Oliver, you're fucking wasted." Murdoc wasn't amused, and he knew all too well what Oliver meant by '_paying him back_'. But, he also knew Oliver didn't take no for an answer, and wasn't surprised when his toothy grin was replaced by a sickening smirk.

"Ye' better _rethink_ that answer, mate," he sneered in Murdoc's face.

Clenching his teeth, Murdoc pushed past him. "No."

"Where tha 'ell you goin, fucker?" Oliver roared.

"Anywhere that's not here, you bastard."

Murdoc hurriedly grabbed his coat and pakc of cigarettes before closing the door behind him. "Don' 'spect ta be let back inside until yew pay!" he heard his flat mate yell.

The black-haired man flipped him off before climbing into his car, which was the only thing he cared about in the world. Old, and bent up, he loved it, and called it Stylo. He sat there for a moment, in the drivers seat, and sighed before lighting a cigarette and driving off.

Speeding down the road, well above the speed limit, Murdoc lit his fourth cigarette and let out a huge puff. "Fuckin' hell," he mumbled, wincing at the light reflecting off the mirrors. As he turned to move it, he looked away from the road.

Suddenly, he turned and saw a young man walking into the street, right in front of his car. "Holy sh—"

Murdoc practically stood on the break, but he knew that wouldn't' do anything, and the poor bloke was done for, as he hit Murdoc's windshield and went flying.

For a split second, Murdoc just sat there, eyes open wide, gasping. He dropped his cigarette from his mouth and opened the door slowly. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

He walked over to the boy and rolled him over, inspecting the damage. The blue-haired boy's eye started to fill with blood, and it trickled down from his temples and stuck his hair to his cheeks. "Fucking idiot…" the older man mumbled. "Oi… A-Are you alive?"

The boy slowly smiled and uttered a very quiet statement before closing his eyes. "Sorry."

Well, Murdoc wasn't compassionate, and he sure wasn't loving, but he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty at the sight of this young boy—unconscious and bleeding because of him. "He _did_ walk out in front of you.." he mumbled, reasoning with himself as he waited for the ambulace, scratching his head.

He _couldn't_ go to jail again… If he did, who would bail him out? Oliver would definitely need '_pay_' for a service like that; and he _**would not **_ask his father or brother for money.

As the ambulance pulled up and he explained what happened, a frenzied woman came screaming in with her angry husband, demanding to know what the hell had happened and who in the devil had done this to her precious boy.

Murdoc looked over, scowling at the disheveled woman and her tired-looking husband. "Your fucking _son _walked in front of _my _damn car."

The woman looked at him blankly for a second before her eyes lit with a fire and slapped Murdoc straight across the face.

"You fucking—" the black-haired man started but was stopped by one of the medics.

"_My son_!" she screamed as her husband took her away to the ambulance.

For a moment the medic looked sorry for Murdoc, but he calmly stated that Murdoc would need to come to the hospital for questioning, and that he might as well just do it now before the cops had to come.

Murdoc punched him in the nose.

**A/N: R&R guys! Thanks for reading! And thanks for the reviews on the past chapter, you guys rock!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Oh gosh, thank you guys for the reviews! I mean, it might not be a lot for some people, but considering this is my first fanfic ever, this means **_**so much **_**to me! Thank you!**

**So, in this chapter we meet unconscious 2D and his angry mom again! Yay! Also, let me know if you guys like the Mudz flashbacks!**

**Chapter Two: Comatose and Custody**

"I have the _perfect _sentence for you, Mr. Niccals," smirked the cop as the accused stood in the hallway of the hospital, glaring daggers at the officer with his mismatched eyes hidden under black locks. "Since you oh-so-conveniently have a medical degree- which I'm not even gon' ask _how _you got- you will get the privilege of taking care of the poor boy you injured."

"_WHAT?!" _Murdoc blanched. Oliver was gonna fucking _kill _him for this! "Sir, I don't think ya understand. You see, I _can't _take care a' this kid 'ere."

"Oh, but you can." The officer held up a piece of paper. "Because, if you don't, you won't be gettin' outa jail for a while, _Mr. Niccals," _he spat.

"_Sir_," the back-haired man growled, "I have a flat mate."

"Extra help," he replied.

"Look—I…," the bassist couldn't find a way to tell the cop about his situation.

"There's no getting out of it unless the kid would be in serious danger—" Stopping to look Murdoc up and down, the cop smirked. "—which he isn't."

Murdoc almost decked him right there. In fact, he was rather proud of himself when all he uttered was a "fuck you" and collected himself.

"Look Mr Cop Fucker. This kid won't be in good hands in my place, got it? Or are you too stupid to understand that if he comes to my place, my flat mate will be _very angry._"

The cop stopped for a moment to glare at Murdoc. "Then," the officer paused to think, "you will move in with the Tusspots."

Murdoc stared at him blankly. "What?"

"I will go consult the family."

Without another word, the cop left Murdoc to himself as he wandered into the hospital room. Peeking through the door, the bassist saw the blue-haired boy unconscious and limp in his bed, barely breathing with many tubes sticking out of his arms. He was surrounded by monitors and—damn a good-looking nurse— and Murdoc couldn't help but feel horribly guilty when he saw the sight. Of course, not guilty enough to want to nurse the poor kid back to health, but still guilty.

Shakily sitting down on one of the benches, Murdoc buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows gingerly on his knees. "Fuck, what've I done…," he groaned. What if his dad found out? The black-haired man shuddered at the thought. Not only would _he _be in danger, but the poor kid would too.

As he sat there thinking about his miserable life, the door to the hospital room was opened, and with one swift moment, Murdoc was yanked up by the officer.

"You outta consider ya'self lucky that this bloke had a nice family. You may stay with them for 6 months as you take care a' their son," he stated like the bassist was the luckiest man in the world. "Now go see the kid and apologize to the family, asshole."

The cop walked away, mumbling about how Murdoc disgusted him. "I disgust me, too," grumbled the bassist as he walked into the room, shuffling with his hands in his pockets and glaring at nothing in particular.

"Are you Murdoc Niccals?" a gruff sounding voice asked, and when he looked up he was met with the eyes of the man who he assumed was the kid's father.

"I am," Murdoc sourly replied.

"And you did this to my son," the woman beside him spoke up, turning the question into more of an accusation.

"I—I did." The bassist figured that he might as well not be a complete asshole to them since their son was… not good.

"You basta—" the woman started but was stopped when her husband put his hand on her shoulder.

"Rachel," the man sighed.

"Look," Murdoc growled. "I'm sorry I fucking hit your son. To be fair, he walked in front of my car though, so I'm not completely fuckin at fault, okay? Damn.."

The woman—Rachel, looked like she was about to explode, and the man quickly asked her if she could go get Stuart's—the kid?—pain medicine, and she hurriedly left the room.

Murdoc scowled at the floor in silence for a few minutes until the man spoke up.

"I don't like you, and frankly, you disgust me and I want you to go to hell, but we should at least get along if you have to come over every day for 6 months to take care of my son who's life you nearly ended, right?"

Surprised, the bassist looked up at the man and raised an eyebrow. "… Right."

"David Tusspot."

"… Murdoc," mumbled the younger man bitterly.

He looked over at the kid, Stuart, and sighed, getting lost in thought.

At some point, David left to find Rachel, and left Murdoc with Stuart.

"Look, kid," the bassist sighed, glaring for no particular reason. "I'm sorry."

And then, Stuart opened his eyes.

Murdoc had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep a yelp in when he saw the kid's eyes. "Err—Nurse!"

The kid looked at him confused, but when the nurse came in and dropped a pill bottle, Stuart's face morphed into worry, and the pain was clear in his eyes.

"His—his eyes!" the nurse cried.

"Is—oh shit I did that," Murdoc swallowed, guilt knotting up his bowels.

Stuart was nearly crying in frustration and pain.

Slowly grabbing a medical tray, the bassist held it up to the blue-haired man, showing him the left eye that had turned completely black.

He couldn't look at the younger man's broken expression, so the bassist went to go stand in the corner as Rachel and David came back in. He couldn't listen as Stuart's mother started sobbing, and his father gasped in horror, so he stared out at the windows with guilt. He didn't want to own up to it. He _couldn't. _

Because if he did, he would be just like his dad. Hurting others, ruining lives and futures.

And Murdoc _was __**not **_his father.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Aghh! Thank you guys for the reviews and love! It means so much to me. I decided to skip a little time from the last chapter, so Murdoc has been living with the Tusspots and helping take care of 2D for about a month now. I did this because I felt like the first few weeks would've just been lots of yelling and boring stuff. Sorry for the short chapters.. they'll get longer soon! Soooo, here we go! Oh, and also it's my birthday today! Yay!**

**Chapter Four: Taking Care and Explanation**

"Damn it kid, stop fucking drooling…," Murdoc grumbled, roughly wiping the younger man's cheek.

Stuart looked up at the older man, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but not a sound escaped. Murdoc had learned that the blue-haired man _wasn't _in a coma (and he'd learned the hard way when he had gotten up to get a beer and the kid was sitting up on the couch, startling Murdoc so much he dropped the alcohol causing it to break—"One more mess I have to fucking clean up, face-ache!"), but he was in something called 'catatonia'. The bassist had tried to ask the Tusspots what catatonia was, but every time they tried to tell him Rachel would start crying, and one way or another Murdoc would end up slapped across the face. He resorted to books instead, and found out it was basically like PTSD, and that Stuart couldn't speak, and couldn't feed himself.

"Ya want a paper to write on or something?" the bassist asked gruffly, glaring over at the blue-haired man.

Nodding, the younger man watched Murdoc with his mismatched eyes and smiled when the older man tripped over the trashcan, showing the gap between his teeth. "Fucking—who put that damn can there!"

Grumbling, the bassist sauntered back towards Stuart, attempting to regain his dignity, and heard the blue-haired man giggle. "Oh, fuck you," sighed Murdoc, slapping the kid upside the head as he handed him the pad.

The bassist occupied himself with the telly, switching channels and looking for something that he could at least stand, as the younger man tried to write something down. _Wasn't a lack of fine-motor skills one of the side effects of catatonia…? _mused Murdoc, taking a swig of rum. _That should make writing difficult._

"Faceache, can ya even write anymore?" he grumbled, turning to Stuart.

_It's kinda dificult to rite stuf, Murdoc_, the paper he held up read.

He felt badly about the whole thing, so the older man didn't mention the spelling errors and just let out one long sigh. "Well, now this is _slightly _less fucking annoying. Least you can respond now."

_Sorry, _wrote Stuart.

"Yeah," Murdoc grunted. After a long silence, he spoke up. "So what do you want to do?"

_Let's play a game. _The bluenette grinned.

"Hell no!"

_Please? Least u can do for putin me in this state, Muds._

Murdoc stared at the paper. "_Muds?" _he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Faceache nodded. _Easier than writin out Murdoc._

"Muds," he mused, taking another, long, swig of rum. "A'right. I'll play your game."

_I'll ask quesions first. What's your middle name?_

Murdoc's eyes narrowed. "Alphonce." When Stuart started cracking up, Murdoc glared menacingly at him.

_Sorry. _The younger man bit his lip with the side of his mouth and looked away. _Your turn. _

"Well…," grumbled the older man, "this is fucking stupid. What's your favourite colour?"

_I dunno… blue. _Looking up at him with mismatched eyes, Stuart shrugged. _Yours?_

"How the hell—I guess red," Murdoc sighed. "This is so fucking lame."

_Mudz._

"You should be lucky I'm takin' care of you."

_I thot you were gonna get a prison sentence?_

Murdoc glared at Stuart before groaning and giving in. "What are you most scared of?"

The younger man visibly paled and looked down nervously.

"Oh, bloody hell! Grow a pair," the bassist growled.

After a little hesitation, the bluenette wrote on the piece of paper; _Whales._

"You're kidding," smirked the older man. Laughing, Murdoc rolled his eyes. "Oh hell, what a poofter!"

Stuart looked like he was about to cry, and looked away silently.

"You're not kidding. Well, and I thought Oliver was fucking lame," mumbled Murdoc. "Oi, c'mere."

The younger man looked up at him fearfully, as if he was expecting to be hit. The sight reminded Murdoc too much of a younger version of himself before his father would strike him, and the insults died in the man's throat. "I…"

_Sorry._

There it was again! That fucking word, making the bassist feel terrible and guilty. "Don't be fucking _sorry," _he growled, the word becoming more malicious than intended. "Just—I'm—fuck this. I'm getting another bottle."

Stuart's eyes followed Murdoc into the kitchen, and he felt them burn into his back as he opened the refrigerator. When he turned around, the bluenette had busied himself with writing something in the notepad.

"You sure are awfully annoying when you aren't zoning out into fuck-knows-where."

_Are you scared of anything, Muds?_

Murdoc paused for a moment, glaring at the piece of paper with a fire in his mismatched eyes, and the younger man retreated back into the cushions of the couch as the black-haired man angrily gripped the page.

_My dad, Oliver, Hannibal, _thought the older man as he ripped it from the notebook, furiously throwing it across the room. "_No!"_ he growled. "Now _shut the fuck up—"_

The Tusspot's decided that that moment would be ideal to walk in the front door, right as Murdoc was going to slap their child upside the head, and Rachel cried out, horrified. "_Stop!"_

The bassist grabbed his rum and stormed out, leaving Rachel to rush to her son's side, and David to yell after Murdoc that he was a no-good bastard who ruined their lives.

"_FUCK YOU TOO!" _he yelled back, getting into his car and speeding off.

After a few moments of silence, Murdoc grumbled "I'm not scared of anything…"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, I thought I should tell you that the reason these updates come so quickly is because I'm still on break, but after this week they'll probably only come once every one/two weeks. Sorry! New trimester in school . Oh, and Chapter 6 will be much longer!**

**A/N 2: Hi guys, it's the 3****rd**** of January, I'm sooo sorry for the wait. I had some personal issues that reallt fucked me up, but its all good now! I also revised this chapter and made it longer.**

**Chapter 5: Confrontation **

The day after Murdoc's temper tantrum, he skipped taking care of Stuart. Frankly, he was too angry and embarrassed of his outburst to do much of anything; which was unusual, seeing as the bassist was quite outspoken and didn't care of other's opinions. He felt like the Faceahe didn't deserve to be freaked-out on by the guy who put him in a fucking hospital damn it.

But, not going to the Tusspots meant the looming danger of staying in his own flat with the stoned asshat of a flat/band mate named Oliver. _Joy._

So, Murdoc tried his hardest to just stay in his room and drink, but eventually when his flat mate did get up, he quickly realized Murdoc was home. Now, on a normal day, Murdoc would've conveniently left before Oliver woke up, and would come home when he was in his room completely hammered. But since the bassist just had the worst of luck, Oliver soon came knocking on his door.

"Oi, Murdoc," Oliver growled into the door. "I know yer fuckin' here."

Remaining silent, the black-haired man took this opportunity to pray that the other man would just coincidentally pass out drunk.

"Come out, I need t' talk t' ya, _mate,_" he spat, chilling the bassist to the bone.

"What, Oliver?" Murdoc yelled.

"I said, _come the fuck out!_"

Murdoc quickly abandoned his drink and opened the door. "WHAT?"

_Crack. _Oliver's hand slamming into the bassist's nose made a stunningly loud noise as Murdoc fell backwards. "Holy fuck—!"

"Don't say '_what' _to me," Oliver snarled, kicking the man in the ribs.

_"Don't you fucking dare speak in that tone of voice to me you useless prick!" screamed his father, landing a kick in Murdoc's side as the eleven-year-old cried out in pain._

"You're such a waste of space," he yelled, throwing a beer bottle at his head, a shard of glass nicking Murdoc's cheek and narrowly missing his eyes. The shatter of a few more things resounded in Murdoc's ears, mixing in with the angry screams of his flat mate. His blood mixed with the booze Oliver spilled, soaking the side of his shirt.

"I'm sorry!" cried the bassist. An uncommon phrase that Murdoc considered as high of a weakness as any. The compilation of saying it for years to his father and the resentment towards his childhood made the younger man deem the words heinous and never used them. But for some reason, in this moment, lying on the cold ground with blood sticking to his side and booze drenching his hair, he caved, uttering the sentence he never would have otherwise.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" yelled the older man. "You're such a fucking fag these days! Where the hell do you fucking wander off to in the day, yer _boyfriends?"_

"Shut the fuck up." Murdoc's eyes glinted with resentment as he stood up.

Oliver laughed scornfully. "Sorry, _what did you just say?"_

"I said _shut the fuck up," _the black-haired man smirked, his fist making contact with the other man's jaw, ignoring the blood trickling down from his nose.

"Get the hell out! Get the bloody hell out of my damn flat you useless prick!"

Murdoc barely had time to grab his bass before Oliver grabbed him by the shirt collar and tossed him into the rain. "If you come back, _I'll call your father." _

…_. _

Murdoc practically stepped on the gas, skidding down the road in the rain. He had almost no idea what the fuck he was doing and where he would go, but he would _not _be around if or when his father entered the scene. The rain pounded down on the windshield of the car, and the bassist slapped the radio on, fiddling with it until a suitable station was found.

"What am I gonna _do.._?" he groaned, putting a hand up to his bloody head and hissing at the pain.

…..

Standing in the rain, bleeding and bruised, Murdoc waited at the Tusspot's front door, embarrassed beyond belief and wanting to just die. He nearly hit himself when he felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes. "_Christ," _he mumbled.

When the door swung open, it was Rachel who answered. "Yes—Oh, my… Murdoc?" Even though he could practically taste the distain in her voice, she looked slightly disconcerted.

"I—uh," the bassist wiped the blood from his nose when his voice cracked. "My flat mate and I got in a row… Look, I have no other fucking place to go—"

Rachel cut him off with a nod before closing the door.

"What the f—" Murdoc's hurt turned to rage, and when he opened his mouth to yell, David opened the door again.

"Bloody hell, come in," murmured Mr Tusspot.

Shuffling in and looking down, Murdoc scratched his head. "If I had to, I wouldn't be coming here trust me, but—"

_Crash!_

Murdoc looked up the find the noise's perpetrator, and was faced with a shocked Stuart and a keyboard on the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello! Sorry for the slow update, but, alas! School has stared again and I must put studies first. . Anyway, for those who are wondering when the flying fuck the car accident hasn't happened yet, well, the answer is that I'm debating on whether or not to include the accident, or have 2D's health deteriorate because the lack of Murdoc taking care of him. Either would be his fault :P. Anyway, enjoy this slightly-longer chapter!**

**Chapter Six: Pianos and Arguments**

It'd been almost two weeks since the incident with Oliver, and Murdoc hadn't seen him since; a fact that he was extremely grateful for. However, the bruises, cuts, and broken nose was still there, and every move he made seemed to hurt. He was pretty fucking sure he had cracked a rib because if he coughed, breathed the wrong way, or even turned to look at something, he felt like someone had opened a void to space in his side.

Yet, all the marks weren't physical.

The recent beating had triggered numerous nightmares, flashbacks, and "daymares", causing Murdoc's life to be pretty much a living hell. During said episodes, he would recall the times when Oliver hadn't successfully picked up a tramp that night and had forced his way into the bassist's pants. Times when his brother's friends and he had beat him with bats and pipes, then gotten screamed at and hit by his father for dirtying the already-messy floors.

After one particularly horrifying nightmare, Murdoc woke up panting and drenched with sweat, looking around the dark room wearily. For a moment, he forgot that he wasn't in his flat, and he was in the Tusspot's home, sharing a bedroom with Stuart. The bassist slowly lowered himself back onto the spare mattress on the floor, careful not to make any noise. He looked up sullenly at the glowing star-stickers on the ceiling.

Something hit the man's shoulder.

"Holy—" Murdoc gasped, shooting upright again. The older man looked at Stuart, sitting in his bed with his pad of paper in hand. "What the fuck do you want?!"

Turning the light on, much to Murdoc's chargin ("Ouch! Fucking prick!"), the younger man scribbled something down on his pad.

_Murdoc, why do ya yell in ya sleep?_

Blankly staring at the sheet of paper, the bassist went pale. "I don't."

_Yeah ya do.. _Stuart looked at him with a sad expression. _Ya look sad. Are ya sad?_

"N-No. I'm not fucking sad, you poofter," he growled, turning the light off. "… I'm not sad."

….

The next morning, Murdoc tried to sleep in late, but with the yelling going on downstairs, his head was pounding and the light burned into his eyes. The Tusspots were arguing over something—_probably me_, he thought—and their voices bore into his head.

Glancing over at the clock, he saw that it was only eight o'clock. "Damn," he mumbled. "How the fuck are they functioning?"

Standing upright and ignoring the clicks in his joints, he shuffled into the bathroom to take a piss. In the hallway, he looked down the stairs to see Stuart and his mother standing in the living room, the blue-haired man looking very desperate and pleading, and his mother was worn and tired.

"Stuart, I just don't _trust _him," she sighed, trying to reason with him.

Writing something down on a piece of paper, the man looked angry.

"_Well he should stop drinking and find somewhere to stay!" _she yelled.

Looking up, the faceache saw me watching them from the stairs and blushed, and when Rachel turned around to look, her face went bright red.

"I'll gather my things," Murdoc grumbled.

Before the woman could answer, the bassist walked into the bathroom and locked the doors. She was right. He was twenty-seven and should be able to support himself by now. He was a failure. Running a hand through his greasy hair, Murdoc looked into the mirror with his mismatched eyes, his skin an olive tone, flesh worn down by drinks and cigarettes. He eyed his crooked nose, misshapen from the beatings his father and brother had given him. The permanent bags under his eyes etched into his skin. He was still rather young yet, but shown the wear and tear of a man much older.

Murdoc couldn't bear to look any longer, and once he was done in the bathroom moved back into Stuart's room to gather his things, but was surprised when he saw the man sitting there, watching him with his, also, mismatched eyes.

"I'm leaving," he sighed, scratching the back of his head and eyeing the younger man. "I shouldn't be here, you asses can barely handle yourselves."

Stuart smiled at the attempt at kindness, showing the gap in his teeth.

As he gathered his things, the younger man followed him, gaze burning into Murdoc's back. He could sense the blue-haired man behind him as he shoved his belonging into a backpack and put away his bass. As he started walking to the door, he heard something.

Turning around, he stood face-to-face with the younger man playing the piano. The music was beautiful, and he stood transfixed on Stuart's hands as they ghosted the keyboard, the ivory turning into a sweet melody.

"You—You can play?"

That was a stupid question that Murdoc obviously knew the answer too, but the bluenette nodded none the less.

"That's really—," the bassist started, before realizing what he was about to say. "That's _not bad._"

Grinning like an imp, Stuart finished the refrain with glee and put it to the side. Holding up his thumbs, he seemed to ask the older man for his opinion.

"Er, yeah. Good. I guess."

Almost as if he was waiting for something, the younger man watched Murdoc impatiently, eyeing his backpack and bass.

"Oh, no…," he sighed. "Faceache, I'm still leaving. You can't convince me to stay. I need to get out of here, and besides, yer mom would probably fucking kill me if I stayed another day. I'll still come once a week, maybe."

Looking down, Stuart nodded.

"So, uh, bye…," Murdoc swallowed.

Suddenly, the bastard jumped up and hugged the older man tightly, pressing his head into the bassist's shoulder.

"Y-You—," the older man yelped, face on fire. Pushing the younger man off, looking away. "I-I'll see you." Shuffling out of the room, he heard Stuart laughing. "_Fuck."_


	7. Important Update! 2-22-14

**A/N: Hey guys! Im so sorry about the lack of updates, but I have a legit reason, I promise XD! My laptop (which I write on) has recently decided to stop connecting to internet. It's also decided to freeze randomly when I attempt to write. I cannot update the Bassist while my laptop is crapping, because if I use the famliy desktop (which I am using now haha :P), my parents will undoubtedly read this; and they don't need to see me writing gay pairings from a fictional band, right? XD. So I am soooooo sorry for not updating! I put it in the video summary just to warn people, and as soon as I can I will update!**

**Again, ****_soooo _****sorry!**

**~Eli**

**1/22/14**


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